Rule #13

Before this summer, Dorcas loathed the yurt. It was always off-limits for campers, so Dorcas grew to resent it, to stick their tongue at it whenever her cabin walked past. Now, as a counselor with a little more tact, they understand that there aren’t any wild secrets or magical creatures hiding inside the round tent. (Unfortunately). Instead, it’s got a bunch of costumes, props, and some of Mary’s supplies. Nothing special. 

Except—and this is a big exception—for the fact that it’s become Marlene and Dorcas’s spot. (So in actuality, it is very, very special.)

“We should get back,” Marlene whispers. 

Dorcas ignores her, drawing little waves down her forearm and across her palm. She’s besotted with touching Marlene, with holding Marlene, with Marlene . It’s an addiction at this point; ever since Marlene hugged Dorcas, told them that she has feelings (the gay kind) too, Dorcas can’t stop…well, touching. 

She’s careful with Marlene’s boundaries. (No open-mouth kisses, ask before touching anything sensitive, and nothing between the legs). Dorcas is happy, ecstatic even, to memorize every corner of Marlene with their eyes, to draw aimless, ardent art across her skin. 

“ Dorcas .”

“Marls,” Dorcas matches her chiding tone. 

Marlene’s blue eyes flutter as Dorcas continues her doodles, the waves growing larger, a fucking tsunami written over Marlene’s wrist. And there it is, a splatter of pink creeping across her cheeks and kissing her nose. 

“You’re blushing,” Dorcas taunts, voice breathless. 

Marlene keeps her eyes closed as if hiding from her own flush. “Mmhm.”

“Have I mentioned how much I love it when you blush?”

“Once or twice.”

Dorcas leans forward, the hems of the costumes above them brushing her head. They grasp Marlene’s chin gently and hum. 

In response, Marlene opens her eyes slowly. 

There’s a whole ocean of intimacy staring into Marlene’s eyes, Dorcas is learning. She doesn’t need to taste Marlene, to touch her in any sexual way to feel utterly undone; naked in every way but one. It surprises Dorcas—all of their other relationships (and there have been many) have been sexual, sapphic, but never tender. Not like this. With Marlene, Dorcas understands delicacy. She understands romance . 

“I love you.”

(Dorcas says this a lot. All the time, actually.)

Marlene’s smile is tentative, but much less guarded than a few weeks ago. Slowly but surely, Dorcas has been chipping away at Marlene’s mask, exploring the sensitive, lovely human beneath. It’s harder for Marlene to be honest, in word or expression, but she’s trying. (She’s doing perfectly.)

Dorcas’s finger squiggles down from Marlene’s chin to her throat, where her dolphin pendant rests. “I’ve always been more of a mermaid person myself.”

Marlene smirks. “That’s why you love swimming, no?”

Dorcas laughs. It’s not all that far-off, she was rather enamored with sea lore back in the day, scouring the San Diego beaches for evidence of mercreatures. “One of these days I’ll grow a tail.” 

Marlene chuckles, watching Dorcas play with her necklace with a rare open expression, one that’s entirely fond. 

There’s something special about the pendant, Dorcas knows, but Marlene hasn’t yet shared what. It’s a game of patience, and now that Dorcas gets to call Marlene theirs, she’s an expert on waiting. 

This time, however, Marlene doesn’t make Dorcas wait long. “I got it from my Nana.”

“That’s sweet.”

“It was the first time I saw the Atlantic. She actually took me on a boat—it was lucky I didn’t get seasick. We played the soundtrack to Anything Goes and ate calamari.”

Dorcas pets the pendant one more time, then snuggles up to Marlene in a lazy hug. 

“Tell me something about your grandma,” Marlene asks. 

“Oh, she hates the ocean.” Dorcas pulls her cornrows to the side so their cheek can press directly into Marlene’s shoulder. (That’s much better). “She was fucking pissed when my mom and dad settled in San Diego.”

“Does she still live in Alabama?”

“Yep. I’m going to visit her once the summer ends.” Dorcas tries not to tense up, but she can’t fight the anxiety blossoming in their chest at the thought of facing her grandma. 

“You’re not just letting me down, Dorcas. This entire family has worked to get you to The Olympics, you’ve trained so goddamn hard! And now what—you’re going to throw it away right before you reach the finish line? God, Grandma is going to be so disappointed.”

All the obsessive, enchanted fascination with Marlene has kept Dorcas’s mind far, far away from reality, but every now and then her mom’s words find their way back in, and she remembers the ticking clock, the decision unmade. 

Before Dorcas can even say a thing, Marlene says, “You’re a brilliant swimmer, Dorcas, but that’s not all you are. If you decide to stop, I think your grandma will understand.”

“I think she would.” Dorcas sucks in a breath. “My mom won’t.”

Marlene tightens her grip around Dorcas and for only one moment more, Dorcas holds onto the dread. Then they let it go. After all, it can’t touch her here. For at least one month more, Dorcas can hide from reality. (With Marlene). 

******

When they find their way out of the yurt and to the dining area for breakfast, Dorcas and Marlene are perfectly on time, despite Marlene’s seven (7) warnings. 

It’s one of Marlene’s many quirks—she always shows up early. A habit from auditions and rehearsals, Marlene claims, because apparently in the theatre world showing up on time is late . (Dorcas usually rolls their eyes but actually finds this quite endearing. Everything about Marlene is endearing.). 

The parents are trickling in, campers squealing and attacking them with hugs. Dorcas sits with her cabin on the usual table in the dining area, trying to keep them calm as they all search for their families. A pair of redheads come up to Marlene’s table, holding hands with a grinning Ginny, and Dorcas watches Marlene charm their pants off. 

(God, she’s perfect). 

“Um, Dorcas,” Mei says from across the table. “These are my dads.”

Dorcas stands to shake hands with the two men, one with Mei’s dark black hair, the other holding Mei’s shoulder with a wide smile. The rest of the cabin’s parents follow shortly, and Dorcas spends the next hour mingling and chatting, walking around with a bowl of oatmeal since there isn’t enough space for everyone to sit. Here and there, Dorcas glances in Marlene’s direction, and here and there, those blue eyes find theirs.

“So,” Brad’s mom says, looking Dorcas up and down. She’s got on a light pink blazer with matching slacks as if this were a real-estate conference instead of a summer camp. Dorcas has already forgotten her name. (Something generic and with an R…Rachel? Rose? Reagan?) 

“What is it that you do outside of summer camp, Dorcas?” 

Dorcas keeps her smile strong and steady despite Rachel’s snotty tone. “I’ve just graduated college and I’m a swimmer.” She keeps the details sparse, intentionally, but Brad’s mom continues prying. 

(Honestly, Dorcas should have expected this from someone who named their kid Brad .)

“Is that a profession? Or was that just a means to get through college?” A few blonde-gray strands fall out of Rose’s French twist. “I know that those sports scholarships can really help students like you get a bachelor’s degree.”

Dorcas’s smile drops. “Students like me?”

It’s not the first time someone has said something like that to them, and yet, the bite is as sharp as ever, sinking its teeth into Dorcas’s arm.

Reagan dismisses her own subtly obvious racism, hands waving as if batting off a fly. “Anywho I wish you the best in starting a career, I know the job market is just horrible these days.”

All Dorcas wants is to get the fuck away, so she nods and murmurs an excuse, making a bee-line for the breakfast buffet to breathe and think and—and—

“Dorcas.” Mary stops scooping Molly’s famous fruit salad onto her plate. (Only the best for the parents, of course.) “What’s wrong?”

Dorcas levels a look at Mary. “What do you think?”

It’s telling that Mary understands without Dorcas having to spell it out. She probably even expected it, knowing the Hogsmeade demographic—white and rich and bigoted . 

“Oh for fucks—” Mary mumbles under her breath, glaring at the crowd of parents. “Which one? I’ll ask them to leave.”

“You can do that?” Dorcas asks, surprised. 

“Well, no, but I can ask Dumbledore to.” As Mary says it, her face twitches. Dorcas doesn’t have much experience with the Camp Director, even when she was a camper they never really saw him, and now that she’s staff, well, one look at Mary’s face and Dorcas knows not to expect much. 

“Just forget about it.”

“I’m definitely not going to do that.” Mary bristles. “Let me find Lily and we’ll figure out what to do.”

It takes a good long while for Dorcas to cool off, so she loiters on the sidelines and hovers around Barty, who steers her clear of the irritating parents. They strike a conversation with Neville’s folks, who are amicably divorced and actually interesting. (Partially because both are clearly queer). While they discuss Frank’s work as an art therapist, and Alice’s career as a smut novelist, Dorcas spots Lily speaking with Brad’s mom. Lily’s lips are flat in a sharp line and Racist ReaganRoseRachel doesn’t look pleased. 

Then Lily is escorting Brad’s mom out of the dining area. It’s the bare minimum, of course, but it still shocks Dorcas. Her shoulders loosen a little, and they roll her neck out, trying to focus on all the good things around them—her coworkers, her campers, Marlene . 

Dorcas looks up, and there she is again, looking back. (Fucckkkkkk). 

When breakfast comes to an end, Dumbledore finds Dorcas, his eyes crinkled from a half-smile. “Can I have a second?”

“I’ve gotta help Sirius set the Lodge up for the presentation,” Dorcas says. (She’s lucky—the other counselors are stuck with the parents, putting on various Activities so they get a taste of what their kids do every day.)

“I won’t keep you long.”

Dorcas nods, following Dumbledore to his house on the left. She spots Sirius on the way and points to the Camp Director.

“Good luck,” Sirius mouths. 

Dorcas shrugs. She expects this to be an apology of some sort—Dumbledore expresses his dismay at Brad’s mom’s behavior, Dorcas pretends like it’s fine, blah blah blah. But when Dorcas sits across from the Camp Director in his stuffy, cluttered office, his voice is stern and cold. 

“I’m very concerned about your workplace behavior.”

“ What? ” is all Dorcas manages to say. 

“Last night, I saw you and Marlene holding hands on the dock. As you are well aware, we have a strict rule that prohibits staff from dating here at Hogwarts.”

Dorcas clenches their jaw. “Rule #13. I’m aware.”

“I’m incredibly disappointed that you did not follow the guidelines and jeopardized the safety of our campers.”

The man’s being dramatic and unfair, Dorcas thinks as they grip the handles on the chair. Sure, dating coworkers is not necessarily productive , but jeopardizing camper safety? (Come on.)

“However.” Dumbledore scratches his beard as if in deep thought. “Given the circumstances, most importantly the fact that we are halfway into the summer and your campers are undoubtedly attached to you, I’m willing to give you a second chance. I will express the same sentiment to Marlene after this meeting finishes.”

A boiling, roiling fire ignites in Dorcas’s stomach. They feel the heat stretch to their head, to their toes, to their goddamn fingertips and burn . “I find it interesting, Albus, what you choose to police and what you choose to neglect.”

Dumbledore sits back in his chair, squinting in confusion. 

“One would think wages, overwork, prejudice , are topics much more paramount than staff interpersonal relationships.” Dorcas sounds like their mom, she realizes. Brave and unflinching and downright badass. (This time, the thought of her mom makes her feel strong, not weak.)

A touch of anxiety deepens Dumbledore’s wrinkles. “If you’re referring to Mrs. Jones, I can assure you that I will have a conversation with her.”

“Lily’s already asked her to leave.”

There’s a flash of surprise in Dumbledore’s eyes, and Dorcas realizes, belatedly, that Lily hadn’t asked for permission. Miss Rule Follower acted on instinct. (It seems Lily’s less of a teacher’s pet than Dorcas expected).

“That was…rash of Lily. Mrs. Jones is one of our most generous donors…” Dumbledore trails off, likely remembering who he’s with. 

“No, please.” Dorcas scoffs. “Tell me how important it is to protect Mrs. Jones' fragile white ego.”

“Her behavior was not acceptable, Dorcas, that is indisputable.”

“And here you are, accepting it. She remains a donor, no?”

Dumbledore opens his mouth but Dorcas isn’t interested in any more excuses. “Save it. The only reason I’m not quitting right now is because of my campers, not to mention the strain it would put on my already overworked coworkers.”

Dorcas stands up and walks to the door, hands shaking from shock. (And rage, a lot of rage). “I’m a golden camper, in case you’ve forgotten. This place was supposed to be my home, my magic.”

There’s a beat of silence, then Dumbledore smiles sadly. “Now you know how the magic is made.”

“Yeah, I guess I do.” 

Dorcas slams the door shut behind them. 

******

When Dorcas Meadowes is pissed, they lose every semblance of kindness she possesses. It’s not pretty, her maniacal, not quite feminine rage, and for the sake of mankind, she usually finds a quiet place to punch holes into walls. (And scream until their throat is raw). At Hogwarts, however, a tantrum is not possible. 

So she meets up with Sirius in the Lodge and does the second-best thing: talks shit. 

“ God , and it’s like he’s clearly a lonely, miserable man trying to fuck up everyone else’s happiness, and when he’s not squeezing a profit out of a camp supposedly built for the campers, he’s watching us all like BigfuckingBrother the worst cock-blocker who lets racist fuckers pay our wages and honestly— honestly I almost wish I never came back because now that I know what really happens behind the scenes here, the illusion is shattered. Alright? Fucking shattered, Sirius. I miss the ignorance I had when I was a camper.” Dorcas deflates, plopping down in one of the fold-out chairs they’ve been setting up in rows. 

Sirius grunts. “Dumbledore is a fucker, and he’s fucking lucky to have you as a counselor. I’d get if you walked out right now though, Dorcas. We all would.”

“I’m not quitting.”

“No,” Sirius says quietly. “You’re not a quitter, are you?”

Dorcas’ chest rumbles with a choked laugh, her vision blurred with tears. “I am though.” 

It’s what her mom said on the phone: “I didn’t raise you to be a quitter.” She wasn’t wrong—Dorcas left her coach and all of her training regiment to come work at a summer camp. (A summer camp!). Dorcas is quite literally the definition of a quitter. 

There’s a slight crackle, and then the first track of “Rumors” is playing on the record player. Dorcas looks up from their hands and smiles (or at least tries to) at Sirius.

“Seems like the right time to play your favorite band,” Sirius says.

Dorcas sinks into the sound of Fleetwood Mac, the cold metal of the fold-out chair digging into their ass. “ I don't want to know the reasons why Love keeps right on walking on down the line I don't want to stand between you and love Honey, I just want you to feel fine… ”

She should be helping Sirius but they can’t find the will to move. So Sirius works and Dorcas sulks. Neither of them speaks again until Go Your Own Way starts playing. 

“Tell me something juicy.”

Sirius barks a laugh. “Yeah, I’ve got something for you. You know how Draco is related to me and Reggie?”

“Mmhm.”

“Aaaaand it’s parents’ weekend?”

Dorcas’s eyes fly open. “Wait, the mysterious estranged cousin is here ?”

Sirius fiddles with the ancient projector that Lily plans to use for a slideshow of camp photos for the parents. (It’s an optimistic plan).

 “You wanted something juicy...” Sirius turns around, crossing their arms. “Reg and I pulled her aside at lunch. Narcissa apparently is divorcing her dick of a husband, has already moved out in fact, and intends to hide Draco from our psychotic family.”

“Woah,” Dorcas breathes. “What inspired that?”

Sirius smirks. “You’re going to love this.”

“No fucking way!” 

“YEP, massive lesbian.” Sirius turns back to the projector, shaking the metal back and forth as she continues, “Didn’t help that Narcissa’s marriage was basically arranged and her husband is a dickwad who doesn’t know how to parent. I really feel for Draco, honestly.”

“And Narcissa still doesn’t want Draco to know who you and Regulus are to him?”

“As of now, yeah.” Sirius sighs. “Makes me feel like shit lying to him.”

“It would probably make him feel better to have some family he actually likes.”

“Not entirely sure he likes us,” Sirius grumbles, giving up on the projector. “But that’s not even the juiciest part…”

Dorcas straightens in the chair. 

“Narcissa’s dating now, which, you know, I mean fuck—good for her, never expected Narcissa to be a queer go-getter, but her new girlfriend is here . As in she’s dating a parent of one of the other campers.”

“You’re kidding.”

“No!” Sirius grins. “They met after the camper drop-off at a bistro in Hogsmeade. Both of them were all miserable about leaving their sons for the summer so they got to talking and then—” Sirius waves her arms in a gesture Dorcas is guessing means something sapphic.

That’s when the Lodge’s front door opens, and Remus pops his head inside. “What are you doing?”

Sirius stops immediately. “Nothing.”

Remus sighs, but the gesture is clearly fond. Dorcas leans back, ready for a show. Whenever Remus shows up Sirius loses all capability of acting like a normal person and proceeds to drool over their “Moon” with unashamed veracity. 

(Dorcas can’t fault him this; she does the same with Marlene.)

Remus walks inside, looking over the room with a careful eye. He offered to help Lily and Mary this weekend, and it’s the first time Dorcas has seen him so serious about anything besides treating the campers. “Is everything ready for the presentation?” Remus asks. “Lily’s bringing over the parents in a few minutes.”

“It’s ready.”

Dorcas’s jaw drops. Sirius sounds downright cold. (And she won’t so much as look in Remus’s direction!) The tension fills the room and Dorcas nearly makes an escape; it's all so strained and stiff and awkward . There’s a few more moments of painful silence, and then Remus nods and leaves. 

“Sirius?” Dorcas prompts when the door closes.

He peeks through her hands, hiding their face. “I really fucked up.”

“I thought you were playing the patient game? Remember our pact, if we don’t push, they open up with us on their own time.”

“Yes, and clearly you’re better than me cause you followed the rules and got the girl and I—” Sirius groans, dropping their hands. “I slammed Remus against the wall and kissed him senseless.”

“And that’s…bad?”

Sirius’s face twitches. “He just wants a summer fling, a good few fucks.”

Dorcas stands and crosses the room to Sirius, opening her arms in invitation. It’s a messy, bony hug, neither Sirius nor Dorcas emotionally stable enough to handle civil affection. 

“I am happy for you and Marlene,” Sirius says sadly.

Dorcas winces. “I’m so so sorry.”

******

Sirius’s heartbreak yanks Dorcas past their anger, past her anxious energy, and shoves them straight into sadness. She hasn’t had a second to really process the waves of bullshit that this day has brought, but the sting of Sirius’s slumped frown, Remus’s sad eyes, follows her like a shark. 

(And not the cheesy Jaws kind.)

So when Dorcas sees Marlene, they forget about Rule #13 and hold her tight . 

“Hi.” Marlene holds Dorcas’ head, her touch gentle. “Everything okay?”

“Worst day of my life,” Dorcas breathes. 

Marlene only holds her tighter. “I’m guessing Dumbledore also pulled you aside.”

Dorcas just gruffs like a caveman, burrowing further into Marlene’s rosy scent. 

“No need to worry about that. I convinced him that we’re just close friends.”

That makes Dorcas form coherent words. “ How ?”

Dorcas’s skin prickles with goosebumps when Marlene laughs. “Men always have a hard time believing women can be romantically involved, I just fed into his expectations.”

“You’re unreal, Marlene McKinnon.” Dorcas smiles into her neck. 

Eventually, Dorcas pulls away because they’ve got an entire camp full of campers to supervise during Lily’s parent presentation, and preteens need constant entertainment or else they’ll melt into a puddle of boredom. 

But before she turns her undivided attention back to the kids, Dorcas reaches into their bag. “I’ve got a surprise for you.”

Marlene squints. “You’ve had a horrible day and yet you’re giving me something?”

“Course.” Dorcas grins and holds out a can of cherry coke, Marlene’s favorite drink. Three little words are scribbled on the metal top. 

I love you. 

Dorcas snagged the coke on her day off and has been waiting for a bad day to gift it to Marlene. (Making Marlene smile never fails to make Dorcas smile). 

“You—you—you—” 

Dorcas hasn’t had the pleasure of witnessing Marlene lose her words often, she’s normally obscenely put together, in fact, so composed that she’s fit to play an English Queen, or rather, a very queer and edgy Princess Diana. 

“I…what?” Dorcas teases. “I’m the best partner ever, I’m stunning, I’m the funniest person alive, I’m—”

Marlene pulls Dorcas back into her arms, and Dorcas goes easily, sinking into the embrace. 

It’s there that she sees the flash of white blonde slip behind the old tree next to the campfire circle. Dorcas can guess what’s got Draco hiding, the shock of a newly divorced mom, newly gay mom, with her new girlfriend. 

“I think I have to have a chat with Draco.” Dorcas pulls away from Marlene.

Marlene nods. “Go on then, Pandora and I will entertain the rest.”

Dorcas weaves their way through the gaggle of campers talking and giggling throughout the campfire circle, the Slytherins and Gryffindors divided in two except for Harry, who runs back and forth, likely searching for a certain blonde. 

Draco is sitting alone, back pressed against the trunk, face tucked into his knees. Dorcas sits next to Draco so that the trunk hides them both from view. 

“You alright?”

“Obviously not.”

Draco doesn’t lift his head, but he also doesn’t dismiss Dorcas. That’s a good sign. 

“It can be overwhelming, seeing a parent after so long,” Dorcas begins.

“I’m not overwhelmed ,” Dorcas stresses. “I’m…vexed.”

“Right, well it’s understandable. When I was a camper I kind of liked that I didn’t get to see my parents for two months. I mean I missed them, of course, but it was nice to figure out who I was without them for a short time.”

“So then why are the parents here now?” Draco lifts his head. 

Before Dorcas can piece together a response, a cover-up for Dumbledore kissing the donors’ asses, Draco shakes his head. “Nevermind. I’m glad that my mom is here. I missed her—I missed her so badly.”

He ducks his head again, hiding his tears. 

Dorcas is gratified that Draco is even willing to share this much with them. According to Regulus, he’s self-assured with his cabin and only seems to trust Harry with his home-sickness.

“I still miss my mom all the time,” Dorcas admits. “But you can miss someone and still have a good time, you know? These past few weeks you’ve been doing the most incredible things, Draco. You found the first snitch, got the advanced bow in archery, and then you and your cabin won so many points that you got that kidnap counselor camp prize. You’ve had fun .”

Draco says something, but it's too muffled for Dorcas to make out. “What was that?”

“I said I was only doing all that stuff for her!” Draco’s pale face is blotchy and red. “I’m doing it all for her , and now she comes back with someone else like—like she doesn’t even need me, like all of it doesn’t matter.”

“It matters, Draco, of course it does. Your mom adores you, but you can’t live your life for her , you’ve got to live for you.”

“I just want to make her happy.”

Dorcas understands. (Oh how they fucking understand.) It feels like the greatest, most impossible feat making her mom proud. So she takes a breath and says what they themself have always wanted to hear: “I think you make your mom happy just by existing, Draco.”

Draco sputters, his mouth flailing open and closed. “I don’t believe you.”

“Then ask her,” Dorcas matches his daring tone.

“I will.”

“Good.”

“Great.”

Dorcas winks and stands up. “I think Harry’s looking for you.”

Draco rolls his eyes and then scrubs at his face. “Fine. I’ll find him.”

When Dorcas moves to walk away, Draco says in a hushed voice: “So are you really dating Marlene?”

Dorcas turns around slowly. “What on earth gave you that idea?”

Draco blinks. “I asked you first, it’s polite to give me an answer.”

“I’m not a polite person,” Dorcas says with a smirk. 

Draco cocks his head and watches them, then nods. “I wish you both the best in your romantic endeavors.”

It takes everything for Dorcas not to break into laughter, but they manage to compose themself and wink. “No idea what you’re talking about, Draco.”

******

It’s funny how a perfect day can become shit so easily. 

Dorcas started the morning tucked up in the costumes with Marlene, drawing sweet nothings on her skin. Then Brad’s mom came along, then Dumbledore’s idiocy, and now this? Oh this is the worst surprise of all. 

Clearly, Karma stopped functioning today because, come on, Dorcas has done a million good deeds, hell, they cheered up the camper most notorious for brooding! (Not to mention she didn’t quit in the face of Dumbledore’s bullshit!) If the universe were keeping score, Dorcas would be winning, because she wins. They fucking win . 

But when dinner with the parents ends, and her kiddos are all tucked in for the night, Dorcas does not get her victory prize—a date with Marlene. 

No, she’s nothing but a goddamn loser when she walks across the parking lot and finds her mother waiting.

“Dorcas.”

For a second, less than a second, Dorcas figures they’re dreaming because surely her mom wouldn’t drive all the way from San Diego to give another lecture. Surely their mom would have listened when Dorcas stressed on the phone that she needed time, space to figure it out. Surely. 

(Then Dorcas remembers who their mother is.)

“It’s time to return to reality.” Her mom gestures to her car, a silver Volvo big enough to carpool Dorcas’s swimmates. “I told Coach that you’d be there tomorrow morning, so we’re going to have to drive all night. You can sleep, I’ve got a couple of Red Bulls and a new audiobook to keep me up.”

Dorcas stands in the parking lot, mouth open like a poisoned fish, choking on pollution and plastic. 

“Go on and grab your things, I can wait. Don’t bother telling your boss you can write them an email on the road.”

Everyone says Dorcas looks like her mom—smooth dark brown skin, two different smiles, one that shows their teeth, one that shows a small dimple, 4a curly hair that they both prefer braided, and the same exact height. 

The differences are subtle—Dorcas has bigger feet, bigger hands, and even bigger lungs. (Because their mother had those measured). All of which makes her the perfect specimen to be a swimming champion, or so says their mom. 

“Let’s go.” 

The echo of her mom’s hands clapping together jerks Dorcas back to life. “What the fuck are you doing here?”

“Language,” she snaps. Then she rolls her shoulders and says in a gentler voice, “I know this is a difficult time in your life. Graduating is scary and this camp—this camp used to be your favorite place in the world.”

Dorcas clenches their fists. “It still is.”

“Is it?” her mom challenges. “I can imagine that it’s lost some of its charm now that you’re an employee rather than a client.”

It sucks that she’s right, that today of all days she had to show up and dangle the truth in front of Dorcas’s face like fish bait. “I want to be here, Mom. And I’m an adult! You can’t just show up and tell me to pack my things.”

“I’m not going to sit by and watch you ruin your life because you’re scared .”

“You think I’m scared?”

“Yes!” Her mom throws her hands up. “I think that making it to The Olympics, competing against the most skilled swimmers in the world is terrifying. Anyone would be frightened, and that’s okay, Dorcas. Fear is only a motivator.”

Dorcas’s laugh is hoarse and small. “I’m not scared of competing, Mom. I’m scared of you .”

There’s a moment where even her mom, Dorcas’s stubborn, vocal mom, has nothing to say. 

“I don’t understand,” she finally whispers. 

“I’m scared that swimming is all I mean to you. That if I walked away from the sport I used to love and now I—I—I guess I’m just a little sick of, a little tired of—” Dorcas takes in a breath. “I’m scared that you’ll never look at me the same.”

Her mom looks away as if proving just that.

“Can’t you just love me for me?” Dorcas asks weakly. 

“Swimming is who you are.”

There’s truth in that, of course. For almost every one of her twenty-two years Dorcas has lived in the water; the Meadowes’ lives have centered around swim practice, swim competitions, swim, swim, swim . 

And maybe, for once, Dorcas wants to know who they are without it. 

(And maybe, definitely, her mom doesn’t want to.)

“I’m not leaving.” Dorcas’s voice is flat, almost unrecognizable to themself. “Leave, Mom.”

The next bit is a blur—Dorcas’s brain is so full of murky water, so thick and slimy that she can’t see, can’t breathe, can’t feel. Her mom gets into her car and leaves. Dorcas walks to the yurt and sits. Marlene comes in and smiles. 

Marlene’s talking about her cats when she says, offhandedly, “I can’t wait for you to meet them, Dorcas. My mom is taking care of them right now but when I move back to New York I’m gonna make sure I find a cat-friendly apartment—”

“New York?”

Marlene blinks. “Oh, yeah. It’s the best place for auditioning.”

“Course,” Dorcas mumbles. “Only a five-hour flight.”

“You’re going to stay in California?”

“Why wouldn’t I?”

When Dorcas looks up, she finds Marlene’s face stoic and solid. Not an inch of emotion. “You don’t want to do long-distance?”

“What’s the point?”

“What’s the point,” Marlene repeats. She looks away and Dorcas does too. They’re tired of disappointing everyone. They’re tired of sitting and thinking and feeling, never making the decision. 

(Well here Dorcas is, making it.)

“My life is about to change completely and long-distance never works. I don’t want to be stuck in a relationship while I try to figure all this shit out.” 

Marlene swallows. “Well, that’s honest.”

“I always am.”

Dorcas nearly flinches when Marlene stands up and walks across the yurt, but they don’t try to stop her. Instead, they settle into the water’s pressure, letting the salt and sea into her lungs. 

Marlene pauses at the door, turning to look at Dorcas one more time. “What’s the point in dragging this out then? Let’s end it now.”

There isn't any air left for Dorcas to answer. 

So Marlene leaves. 

******

In some deep part of Dorcas’s brain, past the Bathypelagic Zone and all the way to the Hadalpelagic Zone, the ocean floor cracks, and a wave of hurt threatens to surface. She stays in the shallow end, however, lazing on the beach’s shore and dipping her toes in the tide. 

It’s simpler here—away from the water’s depths, on the edge of land and ocean. (On the edge of everything.)

Dorcas walks out of the yurt and stumbles across camp not really seeing, not really breathing, not really feeling. She finds another by the Black Lake, looming on the dock. 

“You gonna swim?” Dorcas asks, sitting beside Regulus. 

His legs dangle over the lake’s surface. “Don’t know how, actually.”

“Funny that.”

He turns to Dorcas, eyes sharp. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”

“Sure.” Regulus pulls out something from his pocket. “Want a smoke?”

“Sure.”

Dorcas has smoked before though not often. (Gotta protect her precious lungs.) They probably should feel weird breaking another rule, this time with a man she barely knows. But it feels right watching the moon’s reflection on the dark water and poisoning their bodies together. Feels right. 

“My mom came to camp,” Dorcas says, though she’s not sure why they speak at all. 

“Was she invited?”

“No.”

“I’ve heard moms are like that.” Regulus hums. “Presumptuous.”

Dorcas shrugs. “She really brings out the worst in me. Makes me…shut off.”

Regulus blows out smoke, the air around them fuzzy. Neither of them speaks for a while and Dorcas doesn’t mind, maybe she should mind, but they don’t.

“I used to shut off too,” Regulus says eventually. “It’s what I needed to do to pass the tests and make the grades. And forget about Sirius overdosing.”

Dorcas did the same for swimming competitions. Does the same. 

“Stopped doing that a while back,” he finishes. 

“How’s that working out for you?”

Regulus takes a long drag. “Not well.”

“Yeah,” Dorcas agrees. “Yeah.”

Maybe tomorrow Dorcas will swim to the surface and come up for air—maybe tomorrow Dorcas will abandon the sand and dive into the waves—maybe tomorrow Dorcas will see, breathe, feel. 

(But for now, she smokes another cigarette with Regulus.)